


The Return

by dbshawn



Category: Original Work
Genre: BTB2020, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Black Character with Agency, F/M, Mention of Mafia, Pregnancy out of wedlock, Unmarried Characters, bordello, mention of homosexuality, mention of prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:20:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29127102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbshawn/pseuds/dbshawn
Summary: When her lover comes back into to town after an unexpected absence, a young Black woman must decide if she'll share a secret with him that could ruin their relationship for good.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 1





	The Return

**Author's Note:**

> So here's my only offering for the 2020 Banned Together Bingo. The square involved is "Black Character Agency" and I've written an original piece based on a project I've been working on. It's a lot of slice of life, but it does involve an unlikely relationship between two people in early 20th century New Orleans.

Carlo Mancuso was sweaty. More than just sweaty. He felt grimy from the dust coming in through the window of the open car as he drove with his paysan back to New Orleans. It was the end of September, technically fall according to the calendar, but living this far South meant that they wouldn’t feel the turn of seasons for many more weeks.

He was driving at a decent speed on the highway. Considering they’d spent several months in Kansas City with one of the Big Bosses, it was a wonder that he wasn’t tearing up the road to get back home. Working as a foot soldier in the Marcello clan mean a lot of things these days; one of which was heading off a full-fledged war with the Provenzanos. His boss Antony had a particular penchant for bloodlust. He had no problems slicing his enemy in two over the smallest matter, just to make his intentions known.

But now that the States were heading up a war and soldiers were ever present in the city, Antony felt it prurient to take his squabbles with the Provenzanos to the Big Bosses in order to come to a tentative agreement. Tentative because anyone who’d even heard of him knew that he wouldn’t hesitate to craftily strike back once the war was over and things settled down back to normal.

Similar to the Genovese, the Gambino and Trafficante families, some of these disputes weren’t just over industry territory. Those were just surface excuses the bosses used. The real beef went all the back to the Old Country. Sicily and Napoli. Broken promises between men, sometimes brothers or cousins, sometimes best friends, held over from decades before, simmering in their consciousness like rivulets of bubbling hot lava in a volcano crater. Never a direct threat. But prone to just the right temperature and movement before a rapid and deadly overflow.

It was fortunate for Carlo and everyone else involved that the Genovese’s were available and willing to meet them halfway from Chicago to broker a peace.

Grocery stores. Can you believe it? They were ready to load up guns and bombs over fucking grocery store territory. It wasn’t sexy or even that interesting. But Carlo understood that territory meant everything, especially in a port city such as New Orleans. If they lived further inland one party or another could make a move that allowed them to evade one another. At least for a time.

But the Big Easy was highly populated, highly striated and comfortable with every group maintaining space in their own quarters. So, for the Italians, this meant there were limits to how much they could expand before the government and the police got involved.

Paolo was in the front seat with Carlo, head leaning against his window, soft barrels of sound coming from him. He initially thought to throw something at his head to wake him up, but Paolo had been up all night with Carlo on guard duty. This nap was well deserved. Arturo and Sally were in the back yapping on and on about where they wanted to take their wives when the fall festival came to town.

Carlo smiled at their small talk. These men were his friends and in spite of their brutality on the job, they held family in high esteem. He’d grown up with Sally’s wife and met Arturo’s wife from his visits to her family’s restaurant. Beautiful ladies from solid stock. They seemed happy and settled. Carlo even brought treats and fresh fruit for their children during large gatherings like the San Gennaro festival.

Sally loved to tease Carlo about the fact that he still wasn’t hitched. He didn’t mind the ribbing so much. He really didn’t. They knew he visited Basin Street from time to time. So it wasn’t that they ever questioned his sexuality. But they didn’t know the particulars of his current situation. That was something he didn’t quite feel free to share. Maybe never would.

* * *

She wasn’t sure what hit her first, the smell of jasmine drifting through the window or the blue jays’ song coming from their perch in the tree just outside. Both were an equally invigorating way to meet the day. And besides, it didn’t matter. It was Sunday morning at Josie’s, which meant after several days (or rather nights) of raucous debauchery, she and the rest of the staff could enjoy coming-to in these first few hours in a leisurely yet thorough way.

Out of a staff of twenty-five, ten of them had spent the night in the two basement bedrooms Josie had allotted for such. The rooms held several bunk beds with sturdy mattresses and blankets, a couple of wash bowls where they could wash their hands and faces, closets to hold their street clothes and mirrors where they could assess themselves before they came upstairs.

Midi cracked her eyes open, stretching her arms outward as she dug her body down into the mattress. She could feel a slight stirring in her belly as the burgeoning heat from outside made her skin tingle. Judging from the sounds outside, she guessed that it was somewhere between 8 and 9 that morning. Not exceptionally early in general terms but definitely early for an upscale whorehouse that didn’t stop rocking until well past three.

When she’d first begun working at the brothel, spending nights there had seemed like a punishment. One more reminder of her rank in the order of things. But as Midi began to meet other colored and Creole girls working “the houses” from Basin to Villere Streets, she soon realized that Josie not only provided her customers with the very best in after-hours entertainment, but she also afforded a similar courtesy to all of her staff and contractors.

Yes, they were the ones who washed the very cloths and towels they used to clean themselves after a long day or night of toiling. But after a strenuous shift, they had a safe place to sleep, the kitchen was nearby, which meant they could make and eat their own breakfast in peace, and there was even a crudely built shower outside, cordoned off by hastily assembled old pieces of wood. It wasn’t perfect at all, but who else in the ‘Ville could say their madam afforded them such amenities?

Midi stood up, slowly stretching her limbs once more, then slipped on her bathrobe and house shoes, got her toiletry satchel from a nearby shelf and grabbed a pail from the floor. A few people were shifting in bed, so she carefully slid on her slippers and moved towards the door. No need to rouse anyone prematurely.

She grinned at the sight of Patches, over by the far wall. His tall frame curled up carefully to fit the length of the bed. Though he was the oldest person working there, his salty gray coils and facial scars relaying a lifetime of lessons, he seemed years younger now in his sleep. He was slightly turned on his side, hand clutching the front pocket of his sleep shirt, with the most serene look on his face. Midi wondered what he was dreaming about. His stern face, usually framed by angled eyebrows and a mouth stern with judgment, seemed almost blissful in its fullness and serene slumber.

She chuckled to herself, devising that only reason he slept that peacefully was probably because he had a shiv in the front pocket that he wasn’t afraid to use. Patches was protective and looming over her, but she’d heard stories of his life before Josie’s. Even from before he’d been freed from slavery. And she knew he wasn’t one to play with under any circumstances.

She made her way out of the door, down the hall and then outside, placing the pail beneath a metal spigot jutting from the bricks just next to the concrete steps. The very sound of it filling made her clench her private parts down below. She hadn’t even relieved herself upon waking and the steady stream of water sloshing in the pail wasn’t helping. Most of the time, she could hold her water just fine, until a convenient pause in her duties opened up. But more and more lately, she’d had to excuse herself when the urge hit and then jump right back into whatever she was doing.

She opened up her cloth satchel, holding a shaved wooden stick, toothbrush and vial of tooth powder. Using the stick, she gently prodded around her gums and between her teeth. After gathering a mouthful of water from the spigot, she rinsed her mouth out thoroughly, then used the powder and toothbrush to thoroughly brush her teeth clean.

It seemed like any and everything kept her stomach on edge these days: an overpowering cologne worn by some of the guests, the smell of tequila wafting through the parlor, the bitterness of greens being prepared on the kitchen stove, or even the taste of her mouth in the morning. Flavors and smells she’d never had to consider were now things she would cautiously weigh throughout the day to keep her tummy on an even kilter. Thank goodness this morning found her sailing calm seas. She could go back inside clean, fresh breath without offending any of her other workmates.

By the time she washed her face and combed through her hair, the heavy aroma of brewing coffee hit her nose and she felt her mouth water with desire for it. She tied her hair down with a clean bandana and then went into the kitchen to get a little something for breakfast.

“Mornin’ mah babeh!”

Mama Ahgassay was at the oven, tall and cheerful, dropping a large dollop of butter into a heated skillet. She then placed thick slabs of fresh bacon in after them, careful eyeing a kettle of soon-to-be-ready coffee to her left. The rich brown liquid bubbled up spritely to the top of the metal canister, reminding Midi of her own Mama’s stove.

“Mornin’ Mama! You good and busy, I see.”

If Patches served as her play father, Mama Ahgassay was her play mother; truthfully the den mother of all who toiled at Jose’s lush and luxe Arlington manse. Midi didn’t know how old she was (no one was stupid enough to ever ask), but she did know that she was born before slavery ended, so she had to be around fifty-five, maybe sixty at the oldest. She was tall as many men, still slender and moved with a steady ease from task to task. Except for a shock-bush of gray hair at her right temple, her skin was smooth and supple enough for her to pass for thirty years old.

“I swear fo’ God, you look more and more like your mother every day!” Ahgassy murmured, hand on her hip, while she deftly flipped the bacon over.

Midi cast her eyes down to the floor quickly and then back up at the stove again. There were sizzling globules of grease popping out of the skillet, landing on her forearm. Midi knew that mess had to sting her skin, but after years of cooking meals for a number of families, she didn’t seem to pay it any attention. It probably only registered as a dull sting by now.

“S’what so many people from my old street still tell me.”

Not that that Midi wanted to ever forget her Maman. Marguerite had been a fierce, formidable presence in her life. In so many of their lives. right up until ten months prior. She washed clothes and kept house for a few white women on Esplanade Avenue. But her real calling was as a healer. And in the precious moments she had to herself, when she wasn’t tending to their own household, Midi and Brock, The sting and chasm of her loss was too fresh for Midi. Especially now, what with her brother’s failure to return from the Spanish American war and her scrambling to look for work after losing her housekeeping job with the Toussaints.

“Look like you ready to eat girl.” Midi could have sworn that Mama Ahgassay’s eyes twinkled at her as she began pulling those thick slices of bacon out of the skillet and onto a nearby plate, covered with thinly layered cloths to soak up the grease. When the kettle began to whistle Midi grabbed herself a mug from the nearby cupboard.

She smiled sheepishly at Ahgassay’s cool grin and poured herself a nice hot cup of coffee. She could take today’s duties nice and slow without worrying so much about this evening. Sunday night was her night off.

“Yes ma’am, I reckon I am.”

* * *

By 9 am the entire house was in various stages of waking. All of the staff were up, having washed themselves and eaten in the basement kitchen. Mama Ahgassay was now busy making breakfast and coffee for all of the “girls” on the upper floors in addition to cutting and peeling vegetables for dinner later.

Midi and her best friend Yvette had already moved up to the first floor to begin tidying up the small rooms that were rented out by different girls during the week. The ones who resided in Josie’s mansion (and had more upscale and regular clients slept on the second and third floors).

She and Yvette moved easily in a comfortable silence, thoroughly dusting, wiping down windowsills and furniture, sweeping and mopping the floors, changing bedsheets, cleaning out the wash basins and laying out fresh towels and wash cloths.

Sunday mornings were nice because Josie was usually at home with her own family. And since Sunday evenings at the manse were lowkey, they didn’t have to rush their duties.

Josie had taken favor with Midi because she worked thoroughly and briskly. Never complaining much or causing trouble, but always ready to anticipate what needed to be done to keep the place running smoothly and the customers cared for and happy.

It was a good thing too, because although her energy levels were still high and she could move swiftly, she’d slow down a bit in the last few months. Being on Josie’s more amicable side would mean she could keep her job for just a while longer.

Yvette helped Midi carry the dirty sheets and towels down to the basement for washing and drying and then she went back to begin work in the living room.

“You sure you can get on without me for a few minutes?” Midi asked cautiously.

She hadn’t announced anything aloud at all, but her coworkers, people used to seeing her almost every day were keen enough to glean what was happening.

“’S’no problem girl. Blake and Chauncey can help me ‘til you get back. And if we done, you can head upstairs, see what them girls want.”

They both chuckled at that. It had taken Midi several weeks to get adjusted to working in a brothel. The whole affair seemed overwhelming at first. But one of the strangest parts was befriending the women who lived there, essentially working as high class call girls. Midi wasn’t a prude, but she’d also never been exposed to all of the intricacies that came with relations in this type of environment.

The “girls” wore finely sewn lingerie in all types of colors and patterns. And they meticulously styled their hair, keeping up with the latest fashions and perfumes for when their gentlemen callers opted to take them out on the town. There were specialized jewelers who came to the house a few times a week to allow them to rent or purchase some of the finest stones Midi had ever seen in her life. Diamonds and sapphires, amethysts and rubies, even emeralds that seemed to sparkle just so when the light hit them.

They were well versed at card playing, could recite a decent amount of poetry and were often up-to-date on the latest operas in case a customer wanted to venture downtown for a few hours. Serving them meant getting an education and glimpse into a world she’d probably never know otherwise.

Midi soaked it all up like a sponge, admiring their ability to balance culture and trivia with pure entertainment. And of course, there was copious amounts of sex. Midi certainly heard a lot of what took place, even if behind closed doors. But she also got to see quite a lot as well. Men tied to banisters (needing to be cut loose by the staff, of course), the heavy evidence of carnal emissions, bruising and sadly some fist prints and even the shock of walking in on two of the “girls” having relations with one another.

At first Midi reacted with pure shock, but then she realized that it was something she’d never even considered before at that point in her life. The way Lucy and Florence had laughed at her face made her blush with embarrassment and dismay. They still allowed her into the room to change out the water pitcher and place down clean towels without too much of fuss. Didn’t even bother covering up. After that she was careful to knock on either of their doors when she knew they had no clients. Even when they were truly alone, they’d wink and smirk at her; the joke of their revelation a shared secret between the three of them.

Once Midi gave the girls the linens for washing and took a moment to relieve herself and get a glass of water, she figured it was time to get back upstairs and help Yvette.

“I’m back now ‘Vette and ready for Round Two,” she said playfully while climbing the stairs.

Blake and Chauncey were moving the furniture around to pull out the rugs for a good beating/dusting and Yvette was dusting down the bar, standing on a ladder to carefully pull out bottles, so she could get a good swipe at the entire shelf. But when she saw Midi she froze, a slight panic shifting across her eyes as they canted to Midi’s right. Midi looked in that direction immediately and there he was.

It had been two months since she’d lain eyes on him, but Carlo was as tall, broad and dashing as she last remembered him. He looked exceptionally put together today. His thick black hair was neatly combed back away from his face, his moustache and beard had obviously been trimmed and shaped and he had on a crisp white shirt with black slacks, both pressed and starched within an inch of their life, yet now softening due to the Louisiana heat.

“Hey,” he almost whispered.

“Hey yourself,” Midi answered back. She’d been just fine before and now her heart was pounding, the fluttering in her stomach turning into a light whirlwind, It threatened to make her dizzy and need to sit down again.

“I’m back.” He shifted, moving his legs apart to widen his stance.

“I see.” She glanced at him fully just for a few seconds and then slid her eyes back down to the mahogany floor, noticing the thick ray of sunlight spilling out between both of his legs.

Carlos swallowed even though his mouth was exceptionally dry. He was nervous. Didn’t want his next words to ruin things.

“Can I…can we go somewhere and talk?” He shifted again, running a hand along his goatee and then ramming it inside his pants pocket.

Midi’s face was still focused on the floor. Why? Why did he just show up like this and why did he suddenly need to talk and why did she feel like someone had just placed her under a strobe light? It was too much. Too many emotions to deal with simultaneously especially when there were other people there to witness it all.

“You need to take to some time, it’s alright.” Yvette was her best friend and too damn accommodating. Especially right now. She appreciated the kindness, truly even her voice helped ground Midi, but what Midi had to say, the things they needed to discuss would require more than five or ten minutes.

And besides. He was the one who blindsided her by popping up in the first place. So he and all of this would have to wait.

Midi steeled herself, looking back up at him, silently cursing at the way his cologne was making her woozy. Not true. It was him. The sight of him. Just the way he looked at her in earnest, knowing his broad chest and solid arms would readily accept her if she wanted it. It angered her and excited her all at the same time. Damn him!

“We still got a lot of work to finish up today. I’ll be home later on this week. You can come by then if you want.”

She looked at him for a few moments longer, the fluttering in her tummy building speed, pressing towards Carlo already with an unspoken knowledge.

Then she turned and walked deeper into the living room. Too scared to look back.

“Alright,” he called out behind her.

All of this could wait until later. When she felt steady. Stronger. For now, they had a house to tend to.

* * *

Carlo knew he’d run a risk coming to Josie’s like that unannounced. He knew, but he simply didn’t care. A week on the road and many weeks out of town playing lookout or brass knuckles or whatever, had left him a lot of time to think and a lot of time to realize that he’d missed her.

Although he slept with a girl for hire here and there to satiate himself, he still didn’t have the courage to let the boys know that he’d fallen for someone. Truly fallen, in the way that made him queasy and slightly sweaty and daresay even awkward. In a way that made his brain scramble just enough so that his words wouldn’t come to him in a timely manner and he felt nervous like he did the first time he had to recite the catechism at church all by himself.

In a normal circumstance, they’d rib him and poke fun and be in awe that an otherwise vicious brute such as himself had succumbed to the wiles of the gentler sex and then they’d get over it. But this instance was different. Because Midi was a colored girl. And that was an unspoken no-no in their community. Hell in any community outside of the one to which she belonged.

In his hood, she’d be known as a _ditsoon_ or _mulignan_. Not pretty descriptors at all. And while it was perfectly acceptable to fuck her for kicks, it’s not like any of his friends or family would welcome her to their dinner table. In their world the coloreds were a debased people, on the lowest societal rung possible. And it was everyone else’s duty to let them stay there; in their own enclaves, hustling and hoofing, shucking and jiving, while the rest of New Orleans, the respectable part, imagined a large, bright and prosperous future for itself.

But that was the thing. When Carlo first went to Josie’s he wasn’t even trying to find a lay for the night. He’d gotten shot at one of Mancello’s gambling establishments when a rowdy customer decided he didn’t like the roll of the dice. And because his Boss avoided hospitals as much as possible and he was the Uncle of Josie’s boyfriend Peter, Antony figured it would be easier to post him up in one of Josie’s private rooms. They could have one of their private doctors tend to him there, away from prying (legal) eyes. He’d been hopped up on morphine and whisky, going in and out of cold sweats that first night until the doctor arrived. He removed the bullet successfully, what with Carlo screaming out in pain until the procedure was over.

Afterwards, the doctor suggested that he rest at Josie’s for several more days to allow his stitches to settle and the wound to begin to heal. He popped in every day for a bit to make sure there was no infection and that his temperature was steady.

In that four-day respite, Carlo went in and out of sleep, ran a severe fever and dreamt about his Nonni, a woman still in the old country who used to make him the most delicious savory stews when he fell ill as a boy. In between the sleeping and dreaming and the careful sips of liquor, he became mesmerized the first time he saw Midi.

She’d initially come into his room to fill up his water pitcher and provide hot water in his washing basin. But the moment she came in to change the sheets (he’d needed help from some of the men to get him off of the bed and into a nearby chair), was when he truly got a good look at her.

She was medium height, petite build. Her limbs were long, and she had an enticing shape. She’d tried to cover up her ample hips and breasts beneath that black and white uniform, but he could still see. Very well. She moved softly and smoothly through the room, flipping off the old sheets and pressing the new ones down carefully over the mattress. Smoothing them down and around the sturdy set before they disappear beneath the cover and blankets meant to go on top.

When the two men came towards him to help get him back into bed, she pulled back the blankets and cover diagonally and looked at him gently, offering a silent apology with her eyes that he’d even found himself in this predicament.

It was then that he got a look at her. A really thorough look. She had high cheekbones set around a luscious mouth. A lovely nose and dark brown skin. But it was her eyes, deep, dark and almond shaped, peering at him as if she’d seen a fawn deep in the woods, that beguiled him the most. He’d wanted to say hello, that he wasn’t ever usually this disheveled and unkempt. He wanted to tell her that she was the prettiest little thing he’d seen in all of his life, in Italy or America. He wanted to take her hand and gently kiss it beneath the wrist. But all he could manage that day was a grunt and a groan, nodding his head deftly in her direction to thank her for her kindness. These were the duties she was required to do. But somehow, she’d already made him feel as if she’d done these things especially for him.

* * *

Midi spent the rest of the day outwardly placid but fuming inside. Yvette and the others were even surprised when she offered to beat the curtains to loosen any dust. Each swipe she took at the broom was a physical and vocal lash she needed to release. Who did he think he was? Waltzing in all nonchalant, like everything was fine? Asking if they could talk? At her WORK? It didn’t help that he was freshly bathed and groomed, his dark eyes inviting as ever, and his firm pecs outlined perfectly in his shirt. He must have tried to iron it himself poor thing, ‘cause there were wrinkles galore. But he had the nerve, the actual nerve to stand there, looking at her apologetically, licking his full lips with the sun at his back, waiting for some sort of pardon or forgiveness from her.

The thought of it made her shiver and then get nauseous. The whirlwind in her stomach began spinning faster and faster and faster until she had to beat the curtains again just so she could release an audible grunt that the others would hopefully take as a sign of her physical exertion.

Thankfully, after they thoroughly cleaned up the large rooms of the first floor, they moved on to the upstairs bedrooms. By that point it was late morning and most of the girls were stirring even if they weren’t fully dressed.

Sunday was leisurely for all of the girls, no matter what their plans. Some would be dressing for mass _(yes, even whores had belief and needed to hear a good word)_ , some would take time go visit their families, enjoying a hot meal where they could stay abreast of all the latest goings on, some would take the day to wash their exquisite intimates, shine their shoes or sew torn stockings. And some met their gentlemen callers for a day in the park or a few hours at the opera.

Midi had gone to the opera for the first time two weeks ago and fallen in love with it. Genevieve invited Midi to join her and her date (Midi of course, being her attendant, but still), one Wednesday afternoon. Jean (as she was affectionately called), smiled at Midi as she marveled at the entire spectacle. The four-story building outlaid in Italian marble, its grand columns framing the entrance to the building, the grand staircase inside, inviting patrons upstairs with its circular form, covered in thick lush carpet, the large, cushioned seats nestled against the balustrade, which itself was outlaid in gold, sparkling beneath the commanding crystal chandelier.

But most of all she enjoyed Midi’s reaction as the performance began. Midi was fluent in French so understanding the lyrics of the songs was no problem. But the music. Ahhhhhh! the music was unlike anything she’d ever heard before. Strings and horns and piano and wind instruments weaving in and out of variations on a melody, spinning into the atmosphere as the singers poured out their souls through arias relaying a tale of betrayal, lost love, tenuous hope and small satisfying triumphs,

Midi didn’t quite have the words for how moved and touched she was. It was if the composer had gone into a trance, spread himself wide across all of creation and then like a bath sponge, soaking up every morsel of human emotion into his body, carefully displaying the fragility of their experiences onto his page so the instruments could siphon them out in a thunderous orb of sound.

It touched her, overwhelmed her, moved her, to the point that she was no longer ashamed, didn’t even attempt to hide the tears that welled in her eyes, spilling over freely in tiny rivulets down her face.

She had no idea who the performers were, had never heard of the composer and didn’t know if she’d ever get the chance to enjoy the opera again. But on that day, Midi had been utterly moved. Transfixed and transformed. She’d walked out ahead of Jean and her gentleman caller, unbothered by muddy puddles on the street, noisy vendors with their wooden carts, yelling out prices for fresh fruits and breads or even the clacking sounds of carriage wheels carrying rich patrons to and fro from their spacious mansions or grand townhomes to their next entertainment destination.

Midi was absorbed in a rich world of her own. Fueled now by her own unique internal melodies, And she reveled not just in the music itself; she’d long loved the music and songs of her own people, particularly the songs her mother sang in the language of her tribe from over the Great Sea.

No, for the first time, Midi found a sweet respite, a secret corner inside herself where she could escape her daily drudgery, the heartbreak of family loss and her own loneliness. She’d found a place that was solely and uniquely all her own. She realized that if she could stoke the fires of this hidden cove, if she could wander there, in her darkest moments, when the weight of the world seemed to want to crush her flat to the pavement, if she could find one glimmer amidst all of the gray, that she could do anything. And that she would survive.

* * *

Carlo had been nervous. Sweaty palms, and wet underarms. But he had to reach out and see her. It was brash of him to show up at Josie’s as if everything was okay. Even if he hadn’t seen her face, flattened mouth and stern eyes, none of the usual glow from all of their times together. Even if he hadn’t seen all of that, he knew they weren’t okay.

When she turned and walked away, he went outside and sat in his car, rolling the window down and taking in the breeze for a while. He decided to head to his family home and spend time with his parents and siblings. They were still at mass when he arrived, but then a loud, boisterous reunion came, followed by his mother and sisters banging pots and pans, slicing vegetables and kneading meat and dough in the kitchen long enough to make a scrumptious meal that they could all enjoy around a long worn wooden table.

It wouldn’t fix everything, but it would take up enough time for him to let his worry about Midi go for a few hours. Time enough to stuff himself full, maybe take in some after dinner liquors and get a quick nap before he headed back out to wait for her at her home.

She’d left a small opening for them to talk. It was hard for him to determine if she was simply being polite or if she really meant what she said. But either way, he wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow or the next day, in the off chance that she’d cool off and things would be better.

He parked on Dorgenois Street, just under a large elm tree, around five thirty in the afternoon. A little earlier than necessary. But perfect for his purposes. At first, the sun seemed to glare at him, making him question whether this was such a good idea. But he lit up one of his rolled cigarettes taking careful, soothing pulls from it and soon intermittent breezes drifted through his open car windows, cooling his heated skin.

It wasn’t long before he saw her, coming down the street, a man strolling beside her with three bags of what he presumed to be groceries in his arms. They were laughing and talking as they walked. And it irritated him.

She seemed so comfortable with him. Too damn comfortable. Whatever he was saying had her smiling enough for the dimple on her left cheek to show. At one point she even touched his forearm with her hand. That’s when the hairs on his neck poked out, prickled by his resentment.

The basest part of him told him to jump out of the car and lunge at them; make his presence known. But his higher self kept him seated and still. The burning embers of his ciggie the only evidence that he was heated in a way having nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with this amiable display.

* * *

It might have taken them longer than usual to finish up at Josie’s, but Midi didn’t mind. The market was still open when she got there, so she was able to purchase groceries for the house (thanks to the Professor). Mama Ahgassay had sent young Wallace to accompany her on her errands now. _“Cause you shouldn’t be hauling things by yourself right now.”_

She’d rolled her eyes at the woman’s protectiveness. There wasn’t any reason she couldn’t tote things back and forth. She felt just fine; strong and capable. She didn’t need anyone fawning over her. Still, it was nice to have a little company while she bought eggs, milk, cheese, oranges, lemons, grapes, fresh tomatoes, onions, collard greens and salt pork to take back home.

Wallace often brought coal to Josie’s to keep the furnaces burning, and he also brought in the ice that they used for the pantry and to keep the bar well stocked. He was only five years younger than Midi, but she looked at him more like a little brother.

Even though he was heavy on the compliments and readily offered his arm for her to hold while she perused the goods at the outside market. It was obvious he was a little a sweet on her. He’d often stand a little too close, allowing her to feel the brush of his arm or leg against her own. And there was a slight longing that lingered in his eyes whenever they spoke.

If things were different, Midi might have allowed herself to lean into his sentiments. But her life was complicated now. And about to be more so. She accepted his chivalry and manners as she would any other friend. And tried to hold her invisible barrier subtly enough for him to get the message without being rude or unkind.

They’d come inside the house, both in the kitchen now.

“You can set those bags down on the table Wallace.”

“Sure thing Miss Midi.”

He’d taken his hat and suit jacket off and she hung them up on some nearby hooks on the wall.

“Need any help putting things away?”

“I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you sit down while I get you a cool drink.”

While she truly didn’t need the help, the offer was nice. And later on, who knew. She might be the one taking him up on it.

“Lemonade okay?” she offered.

“That’ll suit me just fine,” he said pulling out a chair to sit down.

She went to the icebox to get some ice along with the lemonade when she heard the knock at the front door.

Midi turned around with a slightly puzzled look on her face. The Professor certainly would need to knock, and she wasn’t expecting any visitors.

“Want me to answer it?” Wallace asked.

“Sure. That’d be fine,” she answered.

She turned back to the task at hand, making herself a glass as well and thinking to put the groceries up next, when she heard his voice. Unmistakable.

“Is Midi here?” The syllables rang long and deep down the foyer.

“Who are you sir?” Wallace’s voice sounded concerned and unsteady.

“That’s not really your concern, now is it?”

And then there was a silence too still, fraught with tension and unspoken aggression.

“Wallace, come on back and get your lemonade.” Midi didn’t really know why her voice raised when she was walking towards them both. She did know. It was her nerves. But she couldn’t delay the inevitable, couldn’t leave Wallace there alone with what he’d deem a stranger. So, she forced herself out of the kitchen, down the hallway and into the foyer. Grateful for her apron, and Wallace’s steady frame and the fact that her stomach wasn’t so queasy that she’d lose any of her previous meals.

“Wallace, who in the world is it…”

And then saw him at the door. Tall and broad, his pectoral muscles unmistakable under his shirt. His thick black hair combed back with what she knows is probably water and a tiny bit of hair oil. His tongue darting out to moisten his plump lips as his dark eyes meet hers and refuse to look anywhere else.

His posture slightened just enough for him to remove the hat on his head in a gesture of respect.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Midi stood slightly behind Wallace, wiping her hands nervously at her apron and wishing the wooden floorboards would open and swallow her whole.

“We were just having ourselves some lemonade.”

Carlo took a slow step inside the house. _He was here whether she wants it or not._ She figured it’s better to get this all over and done with today so she can get on with her week.

“Wallace, this here is Carlo. Carlo, this is Wallace.”

Carlo was still staring at Midi like she was wanted for something. Indeed, she was, but not in the way he was thinking. It wasn’t readily apparent before. But looking at her now with her apron on snugly around her torso, it became plainly evident for him. The way her body bulged out at her middle, signifying more than just a hearty meal, gave him pause, only to then add more fuel to the fire. He was stunned. Almost to the point of not being able to speak. He knows he can’t leave now.

Wallace offered out a large hand as a gesture of courtesy, however hesitant.

“Nice to meet you,” Carlo responded stiffly.

“Why don’t you come back into the kitchen and join us?” Midi offered.

She was nervous and too angry to voice it in front of Wallace; he didn’t need to know her business although she’s sure he could glean what was happening.

If her skin were lighter, she knew she’d be visibly blushing right now. But it wasn’t. Thankfully the heat that hanging in the air can remained a cover for the simultaneous heat rising to the surface of her cheeks and her forehead.

She turned on her heels and headed back to the kitchen, Carlo following not too far behind.

Midi went back to the counter to pour another glass of lemonade. And gently bite her tongue while she’ figured out what she was gonna do.

“Want me to put the groceries up for ya Midi?” Wallace stood next to her, a little too close, honestly. He touched her arm gently as she set the additional glass down on the counter. Midi was grateful for his manners and chivalry. But she regretted that they weren’t helping matters right now.

“That would be a real help Wallace” she said, placing Carlo’s lemonade on the table.

Carlo was still standing. Gazing at Midi now. There was anger and irritation swirling around beneath his dark, full eyebrows. But also, a deep broadening ache swelling up slowly in the middle of his chest.

After almost a year of them fucking madly, any and everywhere they could, he should have known this was a possibility. He’d been too entrenched in her, her skin, her smell, the way the corner of her lip would curl up when he’d whisper hot and heavy in her ear, the way she opened herself to him so sweetly in the dark, the night air swirling around them lifting the sweat and seed of their passions up and above until everything nearby (bed, furniture, light fixtures, walls and floors) was tainted with the scent of them.

“Aren’t you gonna drink your…?” She was testing the waters, but he interrupted with one swift swing.

“Midi, I need to speak to you in private.” His voice grew deeper and quieter, making his stillness even more pronounced.

Midi swallowed uncomfortably. For just a few moments they stared at each other. Wallace was still putting groceries into the icebox and cabinets he really had no business knowing about. It wasn’t until he caught the eerie silence, punctuated by the loud chirp of a bird somewhere outside, that he realized he was being beckoned to leave.

“Wallace, I…I can put the rest of the things away. Thank you so much.”

He looked at her, then Carlo and back to her again, discerning if she needed his help or if it was really okay to leave.

He’d been sweet on her forever.

But in the last two months, with him offering to help her get groceries and run other little errands, he’d actually started to develop feelings for her. He’d tried to kiss her just once and she’d turned her face just enough for his lips to land outside of her mouth. Instead, she grabbed his hand and squeezed it instead, beckoning him to walk with her to the farmer’s market to get more greens for Aghassay’s dinner. They never spoke about it. She simply maintained a comfortable amiability, that gave him just a dash of hope were her feelings ever to change.

When he gained the sense that she’d be alright, that she didn’t feel in any kind of danger, he gulped down the last of his lemonade and picked up his hat from the rung on the wall.

“Alright Miss Midi. I’ll be heading out now. Nice to meet you sir.”

“And you as well,” Carlo answered back.

He walked behind Wallace down the foyer and shook his hand before he warily turned to go. Carlo wanted to make sure Wallace actually left and that the door was locked so he couldn’t spring back in again.

* * *

The moments between Wallace leaving and Carlo returning to the kitchen seemed like an eternity. The moments from all of their time together came flooding back to her, especially the previous spring and summer. A man who had initially been rude and downright cantankerous to her, showed up to the club one night when the Professor (her friend Anthony) played and sang some of his latest songs at the piano, backed by a badass bass and guitar player.

Midi wasn’t used to hanging out after working at Josie’s. She was either spending the night there, sleeping in the rooms down in the basement, or walking home with a group of the other workers, running up the steps to the Professor’s house, key in hand, so she could lock herself safely inside as they watched on.

Somehow, they all convinced her to go the club that night and allow herself a night to let loose, even if all she did was sip on a few beers and maybe slow dance with a stranger.

And there he was, standing at the bar, watching her dance with Chauncey, of all people, catching her eye every so often as they jitterbugged in the small space allotted, laughing and giggling at their own silliness and freedom from work.

When they finished, she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room to wipe down and cool off. And by the time she got back to her table, Carlo was sitting there, with two freshly made drinks, willing her to stay and join him.

It was nerves and apprehension that made her hesitate., but as Anthony played, singing about life and love and the longing for connection, as she sipped her cocktail and began to sway back and forth to the music, she settled into the evening and into herself. Before the night was over, Carlo had deftly, but gently placed his hand on top of hers. First refusing to look at her, until he turned his head and realized that she hadn’t recoiled in horror. That was the beginning for them. So much from there seemed to roll down hill, gathering speed and strength and emotion, until now.

She was standing by the screen door when he came back. The light from the early evening sun highlighting her face, the gentle curve of her neck and the way her hair fell in soft curves around the top of her shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to hold her. But clearing all of this up had to take precedence.

He picked up his glass and took a healthy gulp, letting the cool liquid moisten his throat.

“When were you gonna tell me?”

He set the glass back down against the table and walked over to where she stood.

“You ask me that, like I’ve been hiding out somewhere.”

“I’d like to think that you at least owed it to me to tell me you were in the family way.”

It made him slightly queasy to even say that. There was the slight risk that this baby wasn’t even his. But he wouldn’t ever dare utter that thought aloud. Not unless he wanted to risk her wrath for real.

“You left town…” Midi turned to face him now.

“I had business to attend to…”,

“You left me. Without a nod or a goodbye or even a fucking note left in between the front door and the screen door.”

“It’s not like I had a lot of notice myself. You know who I work for.”

It was a weak excuse, and he knew it even as he said it.

He stepped closer to her, stepping slightly into the light from outside, close enough to reach out and touch her, but not daring to do so yet. He could still smell the floral scent of the soap she kept in the kitchen to wash her hands. Those hands that had made him red beans with rice, and fresh greens, that had cradled his face in the middle of making love and wafted gently down his cheek before they were forced to part.

“Carlo. Everyone who has eyes and ears in this town knows who you work for.” If you couldn’t discern the men of La Cosa Nostra, you were either blind or a recent arrival.

Midi could feel the tiny hairs on her cheek raise up ever so slightly. Why was he making excuses?

“That’s not what I’m talkin’ ‘bout and you know it. You left town for over two months. Not a word, not a letter, nothing. And now you come back and ask me when I was gonna tell you? If you want the truth, what I’m _really_ feeling right now,” she turned to face him, shards of frustration glowing in her dark eyes. ”I’m wondering why you even care. What made you come back to find me in the first place?”

It was a legitimate question. An honest question, that deserved an honest answer.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about. It was more so that he hadn’t _wanted_ to think about it.

It took him over a month to get the courage to express his interest. Certain that she’d turn him down. And when she didn’t, he found ways to be near her as often as he possibly could, until the day he could no longer stand to be away from her, finally telling her that he wanted to be alone with her. All night.

She’d seemed shocked, sitting in the passenger seat of his Ford that day. Watching little kids bounce a ball from both sides of Esplanade Avenue, darting between the cars going back and forth on the street and stopping to buy flavored ice from the Icey man, to cool themselves in the heat.

When she quietly said “Alright” and placed her hand lightly on top of his, he felt blood surge from his chest to the top of his head, like a spout released from an underground surge. He felt dizzy and nauseous and exhilarated all at the same time. Enough so that he took her home and could only muster kissing her quickly on the lips before leaving.

Everything that happened afterwards had been like water flooding past the walls of a dam.

In all that time, with all of the ways he’d become accustomed to her body, her essence, he hadn’t dared allowed himself to believe, no, acknowledge that there might be more than lust coursing between them. That it might be the very sordid beginnings of something real.

The words were stuck, somewhere between his esophagus and his epiglottal folds. It was as if he’d been chewing on salt-water taffy, swallowed a bit and his whole body froze the morsel in place.

“Mama Aghassy says it’s a girl. Haven’t known her that long, but she’s been right about everything she’s forecasted so far.”

Midi was smoothing out her apron now with jittery hands. Still looking at Carlo, waiting for an answer.

“Midi, I…”

“I don’t know what your plans are or if you even care about this at all. And I know it’s not ‘proper’ for you to claim a woman like me, but I think I’m gonna…”

He couldn’t let her finish. It was too much, what he wanted to say to her was too overwhelming. There was a surge of icy electricity coursing up through his chest, suddenly his legs wouldn’t keep still, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

He surged forward, placing one hand on her collarbone and the other on her cheek and he kissed her, forcing his tongue inside her mouth, as if he could swallow the rest of her words inside himself and absorb any of her worry and hurt.

She wrestled her tongue against his, hating that she missed this, yet loving the taste and feel of him again. His woodsy cologne, the warmth of his skin, the prickly tickle of his moustache and goatee and the press of his full lips, tickling and titillating her.

She didn’t know exactly when he pressed her up against the door or how long it took for him to close the space between them. All she knew was that she had to hold on. She grasped his solid biceps, sighing as he placed a hand down below to caress her swollen belly.

He broke the kiss, moving his face away from hers just a smidge.

“I want you and this baby Midi. And I don’t give a fuck what anyone else in the world has to say about it.”

She might have sobbed at that moment, or simply sighed. She didn’t really know. All she knew was that Carlo was back with her. Hopefully for good.


End file.
